


Last Son

by capitainpistol



Category: Smallville, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Mutual Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 03:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13115466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capitainpistol/pseuds/capitainpistol
Summary: Earth-2 Clark Kent, known as Clark Luthor, works in vain to gain the trust of a world that hates and knows how to kill him. Seeing no chance at redemption, Clark goes to his one friend - Lois Lane - to make a choice that will affect them all. Smallville S10/Earth-2 Clois.





	Last Son

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place post Smallville S10, after Clark Luthor returns to Earth-2. If you watched Smallville and know what's going on, GREAT! If not, easy peasy. I'll catch you up!
> 
> Smallville's Earth-2 is home to Ultraman, Clark Kent's evil alternate universe self. Earth-2 Clark's ship was found by domineering Lionel Luthor (Lex's father). A bitter, angry and powerful Clark Luthor (groomed from birth for conquest and Lionel's sole heir after killing adoptive brother Lex) nevertheless sought to escape his father's abusive grip. Through comic-tv shenanigans he switched places with regular Kent-found Earth-1 Clark Kent and identity chaos ensued. Like all alternate universe plots, this one was about the stark differences between various versions of the characters and how a simple change (Lionel finding Clark instead of the Kents) could alter the story we all know. SV doesn't end the arc on either side. In their second and last altercation, Clark Kent manages to reach some lingering humanity in Clark Luthor and sends him back to Earth-2 with the possibility of changing himself and that universe for the better. Earth-1 Clark Kent went on to become Supes and the fate of Earth-2 Clark and Lois were left to the imagination.
> 
> Read on if you're here for Clois pining, smut, adventuring, investigating and identity madness...

“Clark Luthor!”

Clark dropped his head, already tired of the loser calling him out. “ _Really_? I just sat down.”

The Bartender gave Clark one long grumpy look. “We don’t want any trouble, Luthor.”

Pointless to tell him he didn’t go by Luthor anymore. He didn’t want any trouble either. 

He just wanted a drink. One. Goddamn. Drink. 

The patrons quieted and watched. Groups began dragging their chairs and tables to the corners. Word around town was Clark Luthor showed up to bars to get smashed and ended up smashing people into tabletops instead. 

That he never started the fights didn’t seem to matter. That he _couldn’t_ get drunk never factored into their logic.

Clark rolled his seat around. The man who called him out was a big guy. The kind of guy anyone would be afraid of, the way he stood there, eyes furrowed into a deep frown. Broad and heavy and intimidating… to anyone else. He stared down Clark with great outward confidence, but the human eye could not see that he shook as well. 

Clark probed further; using his x-ray vision to pierce through skin and bone, pass the man’s radiation poisoned blood to the lead box in his pocket. Poisoned man with poison. A former LuthorCorp employ caught in a blast, exposed and discarded with a low 50K silence check, twenty percent of which would go to his lawyer. 

Clark couldn't see through the lead box, but the Kryptonite inside was bad enough to give him a bad time.

“You-!”

Clark was on him in less than a second. 

“Are ruining my night,” he finished. “What does Kryptonite cost on the street these days?” 

The man seethed, lifting his quivering chin. “Go ahead. Prove to everyone here what you are.”

Clark had the man in a lock. If he struggled or moved he risked breaking his arms. There was nothing to it. 

The idiot was going to do it, but Clark set him down before he hurt himself. He fixed up the man's collar and pulled out the lead box, too fast for him to stop him. Crushing it in his hand, bits of Kryptonite magnetized to Clark's cells, destroying them. There was nothing on Earth like that pain. He was getting better at not letting it show on his face. No matter how much training he put himself through to withstand smaller doses it always felt like a new terrible disease was disintegrating him from inside the cell out.

Clark took a step and the man flinched again, but all he did was reach into the man’s jacket pocket to empty his wallet.

“You’re mugging me?!”

“What are you going to do? Try to fight me right after I let you go after you came to kill me?”

Someone close enough to hear snickered.

The man was caught in a shit storm of his own making. This was the Mind Your Own Business kind of bar, even to the likes of Clark Luthor. 

“Like I said,” the Bartender’s gruff voice came from behind. He cocked a rifle… and pointed it at Clark. “We don’t want any trouble.”

Clark had come into this bar before. He said hello and goodbye to the bartender each time. A Kryptonite bullet in the right spot would surely kill him. Fast as he was, luck tended to skip his side. 

Clark shook his head. He could trash the whole place, kill everyone inside. Incinerate it then freeze it for posterity, mark it with his symbol. 

He wanted to do all those things, but he wanted the bullet more.

Clark left the bar, flew right off the mat, and sped through the cloudless city sky towards the sound of White Snake. 

It was _her_ new place. Despite the late hour, her curtains were aglow and the music loud.

Clark landed quietly and observed her for a moment. 

She was nursing a glass of wine, singing horribly out of tune as she cleaned and organized, or attempted to clean and organize. Her apartment was box laden, everything half opened and half out. Whenever she began a task she’d get distracted, stop and do another. Take a sip. Dance. Laugh. 

All alone, yet she could laugh.

And write. She finished a piece and then moved on to notes, and back again to another piece.

He didn’t want to disturb her, but he didn’t want to fly around or find another bar, or help people. People tended to run the moment they saw him. 

Clark knocked on the glass. 

Lois turned off the music and took a deep breath. There was a single person that could knock at her 40th floor apartment from her terrace. She fixed herself up, then stopped and shook her head at her reflection.

Clark was flattered.

She opened the curtain, shaking her head at the sight of him, and with some hesitation opened the glass partition. “What happened this time?”

 _God_ , she smelled good. And her little smile admonishing him made up for all the death glares he got throughout the day.

“Not something completely terrible.”

“That’s vague and unsettling.”

He smiled. “Question, Miss Lane.”

Lois rolled her eyes, but she absently moved toward him, using him as a shield against the cold. "What?"

“This terrace, it’s… very nice. Is that why you picked this apartment?”

Lois smirked. “Sure. I got this place just for you. So you can come any time you want, something no one else can do through the stairs or the elevator. You just leap in a single bound because you think I’ll write another article about you and one of your miraculously timed saves. How’s flying?”

He shrugged self-deprecatingly. “I like it.”

“I bet,” she said.

“Maybe I can take you up sometime. I know you like heights.”

Lois’s smile widened. “And you say you’re not following me…”

“Keeping an eye on you. Not spying.”

“Like now?”

Clark couldn’t lie to her and he was so damn tired of double talk. “I wanted to see you. I haven’t been here long. I promise.”

She nodded, accepting his answer. “Can I help you with something? I still owe you for that favor.”

The sleeve of her robe fell off her shoulder. Clark slipped it back into place. Her skin tingled against his fingers and her cheeks flushed with redness. He heard every little movement she made, from her breath to her heart to the wind in the individual strands of her hair. He was making her nervous.

“That wasn’t a favor, Lois. It was a gesture.”

Clark carried her couch up the side of the building and into her living room, and when he was done with that he fixed up her library, but only because she wasn’t there to protest. The moment she arrived, confused about why the movers up and left, she chided him, but not enough to kick him out right away. She promised herself not to think of that night again.

That wasn’t the first of Clark Luthor’s gestures. He showed up during the latest crisis to rock Metropolis, or when she was out of gas or in a prison riot. He even brought her lunch once, and knew exactly what it was she liked.

Lois closed the robe around her body. 

Clark’s eyes changed. “I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not,” she said quickly, meaning it. He was making her painfully aware that she was starting to count on him.“But you can’t just show up on my terrace. If you absolutely have to, use the front door.”

Clark obliged, super speeding from her terrace to her front door. He rang the bell once and waited while she took her sweet time getting there.

“Very cute.” She invoked her reporter voice and kept eye contact. “What really happened tonight?”

That _usually_ worked. Direct eye contact made people self-conscious, got them to start looking elsewhere and ramble on and on to fill the silence and give her copy.

Clark met her gaze and held it. 

His eyes were a blue that reflected whatever was close by with exact precision. She could hold it well enough, but it was obvious he was thinking deeply about that troubled him.

“Some guy,” Clark said. “He bought Kryptonite and wanted to kill me. His cells were falling apart from radiation poisoning."

"How old was he?"

"A little older than you."

Lois smiled. "Thanks."

"You've always been older. That's a cold, hard fact, Miss Lane."

"That makes him early-30s? Probably from the Styker incident. When the prisoners had to be moved and the LuthorCorp-"

"Drivers kept them underground, to wait out the storm."

Clark had long given up his inheritance when that happened, finding out when the rest of the world did, after the Daily Planet front page headline. Six prisoners died and Strykers was nearly sunken in. LuthorCorp has to pay damages. 

“Are you okay?”

The question startled him. "They can't hurt me," he said, leaving out that they could try and possibly succeed. The Bartender with that rifle, he had all the powers in the world but he'd miss that.

“That’s not entirely true,” she said.

Her eyes fell on the Luthor brand peaking out of his forearm. The conversation pice, he called it, except Lois never said a thing about it.

She glanced back at him and didn't add anything else. Chest slightly out, she quickly stuck it back in, a good move.

It was colder, and he could only shield the wind, not stop it from blowing back to her. Her hair flew everywhere, coming lose in wild clutches. She fixed it back up, flexing her neck and arms, and keeping her eye on him the whole time.

Clark could make any woman his. Catch them off guard with his attentiveness. His powers allowed him to calculate every move, to perfect his touches. Humans were fragile and easy, a series of nerve endings and desires.

Lois was right in being careful and suspicious. He _had_ followed her, watched her, learned her tells. He forced her friendship and was there to be consoled. 

How pathetic.

“Goodnight,” he said, deciding then and there that he had to leave Metropolis. A wound couldn’t heal if it was left gaping open.

He hated the way she looked at him, with a sadness bordering on pity. They were beautiful, though, her eyes. Big and dark brown, almost black. Except he could see a thousand different shades of the darkest gold. She was fearless and she looked at you head on. Those eyes could read your soul, no X-Ray necessary.

"Goodnight," she said hesitantly.

Pathetic as he was, Clark could not help wanting one final brief contact. He extended his hand for a cordial, professional handshake, but when Lois agreed to it, tight prim nod and hand extended fast in practiced gesture she'd taken round the world, his big hand engulfed hers.

Her rapid heart drummed against his fingers. Another gust of wind burst through the open terrace door, sending her hair everywhere. She didn't bother this time. Cheeks flushed, she finally shook his hand after a long silence where neither of them did a thing.

“Goodbye, Lois,” he said.

And she knew instantly that she might never see him again. 

He may have stood tall and proud, but she recognized that quiet desperation in his eyes. She'd seen it in the other Clark, when he pleaded openly to be believed. This Clark - her Clark - would never. 

Lois didn't care that her robe opened as she hurried to catch him. He hadn't sped away. Maybe he wanted to be stopped and didn't realize it. She grabbed him and said his name, fully knowing what that would mean. Yet she did not want to be the sole reason he stayed in a place that made him so miserable.

Twining her fingers with his huge ones, Lois squeezed and pulled. Moving him was impossible. He wouldn't move unless he wanted to. 

Lois managed to turn him back, and it made her smile.

"Something funny," he asked, voice rough with anguish.

If in the world, if we're together always then maybe here… here we're together once. Just for tonight."

The next seconds were an adrenaline rush of shapeless forms. Clark had steadied her neck and sped them to her bedroom, coming down to regular speed to lay her on her back on her bed.

Lois hardly caught her breath, amazed at how light she felt in his hands, how gently he set her down, how much warmer he was up close. She slicked her leg up and smoothed the length of her thigh against his bulging erection.

"I'm not staying in Metropolis," he said.

"Good," she teased, hips and chest aligning with his without the slightest struggle. Despite his bulk, his thickness and width, he was nestled comfortably between her legs, moving only his hips to caress against hers.

 _God_ , she felt good. Smelled good, tasted good. And her mouth, her mouth, her lips, they seem to know the secrets of his body the same way he was learning the secrets of hers.

He didn't shut his eyes, didn't hold back, bringing her to a writhing mess with the barest stroke down her back. Clothes et al, Lois moaned against him, anticipating the moment there'd be nothing between them. 

She reached for the dresser, knocking down her alarm clock in search of condoms inside.

"Wait," she said, breathless and too hot to function.

"What?" he asked, not stopping, ripping her top. 

"Jesus," Lois gasped, looking down at her exposed breasts.

Clark caressed one and mouthed the other.

"Clark."

Leaving her pink nipple swollen red, Clark went lower and lower.

"Not ripping those off," she said, grabbing a fistful of his hair to lift up his head.

Clark didn't need to see the knot to undo it. "I won't," he promised. 

Looking at her, Clark kissed her belly twice, on either side of the hollow button in the middle. Her stomach fluttered, the little imperceptible hairs rising with goosebumps, blood rushing to every spot his lips grazed. Lois's grip on his hair loosened. He pulled at the pants and planted another kiss mole on the side of her hip, making her shiver. It was so close…

 _Riiiip_ …

Amidst the haze, she managed to get one of the condoms open. 

"Do these work on you?"

Clark sat up, took her by the thighs and brought her closer to him, sliding his palms up her legs to delicately remove her pants . He pulled at the hems, her heals dropping against his chest when he was done. He kissed the bottom of her feet, bit a toe and made her yelp and pull away, knees swaying, giving him glimpses of the sweet center covered by her pink cotton underwear.

"There aren't any Clark Jr.'s flying around," he said, unbuttoning his jeans.

He pulled his shirt over his head as he came down over her. Fast when he needed to be, the pants came next.

They slipped the condom on him together.

“You’re very proud,” she smiled. hand closed around his length. She bit her lip as she pumped and stroked.

“You’re blushing,” he smirked back.

“Look who’s talking.”

He closed his eyes and groaned.

“All the things you could do to me,” she whispered in his ear, breath reaching down his neck. “You didn’t think of all the things I could do to you."

Clark pulled her up in another fast, adrenaline fueled rush. Arms wrapped around her, nakedness to nakedness, they kissed softly. The last vestige of apprehension keeping them apart vanished. He entered her, the sweetness of it dazzling, and when she came first, he regretted his vow to stay away, to leave Metropolis.

He didn’t sleep. Neither did she for most of the night. After reaching what was sure to be the last apex of pleasure, she would stretch out her hand across his chest, stroke the length of his back, his cock, urging him back into her arms. Eventually she collapsed, body and mind exhausted, the sweat on her skin ready to cool. He watched her, took her beating heart to memory, her pointless, hilarious mumbling, the tenor of her voice, so specific and different from everyone else.

Clark draped his arm over her, moving when she did. He liked that she was an impatient sleeper, the kind to move a lot every hour. It was by chance that he was the big spoon. A good chunk of the night Lois was snoring her little snore behind him, as fingers playing absently against his chest.

He breathed in her hair. 

If he stayed any longer he would never leave.

The moment he inched away, she shifted, feeling the loss of his presence.

“Baby,” she said, still slumbering.

Clark smiled at that, too. Who knew Lois Lane was such a traditionalist? Baby, sweetheart, honey, she must have called him a dozen different names as they made love, and he didn’t mind at all.

Speeding, Clark was dressed in less than three seconds. He purposely left his boot laces for last. Lois was stirring, waking up. She reached over to find the side empty and she quickly shot up.

She reached over to the empty side and quickly shot up, saying nothing as he finished.

“Are you alright?” He asked, standing up.

Lois nodded.

Clark went for the door.

“You should go the usual way,” she said with a little smile, pointing at the door to the rest of the terrace. 

She wrapped a robe around her naked body and walked over, opening the glass door for him. Early dawn peaked through the clouds.

Clark could read her with his powers. She was holding down a big lump in her throat. 

“Maybe we should’ve thought this through longer,” she said.

He smiled. “Maybe.”

Forcing a laugh, Lois fixed Clark’s collar to bring him closer. 

Clark kissed her forehead. If he kissed her lips he would never stop. She liked to nibble and bite and speak. _God, baby. I love that. I love_ … 

“Do you know where you’re going?” Lois asked.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling at yet another broken vow. Lasted all but a few hours, the whole not lying to her. True, he knew where he was going, but he had no idea what that ice fortress was going to do to him, where _that_ was going to take him. The other Clark didn't exactly leave him a guidebook.

He extended his hand. “Try this again?” 

Lois tried not to think of how deft those fingers inside of her just a few hours ago. “See, you’re learning already.”

“Very cute.”

“I agree,” she smiled, taking his hand.

The contact was excruciating, soft and perfect. Clark had to let her go.

He ascended without making a sound, drifting up silently. “Want to come up?”

“Too late,” she called back.

“Story of our life.”

“One version anyway.”

Lois hated how good he looked laughing, but she loved that if it the last time she was going to see him, she was glad it was that face, full of love, of longing. Full of hope.


End file.
